Explore "The Babe, B. A" by E.F. Benson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Dark house by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street. -- TENNYSON.
The Babe was leaning out of the window of the rooms he had moved into for the Long, which looked onto the Great Court of Trinity, and in his hands was a simple sheet of foolscap paper rolled up big at one end and small at the other. He applied his mouth intermittently to the small end of this really elementary contrivance, and, in his hands, like the sonnet in the hand of Milton, "the thing became a trumpet. " Unlike Milton, however, he was in no way liable to censure for not using it often enough.